


A Good Life Together

by thegraytigress



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange night comes to Gimli. Suddenly he realizes the road they've walked has taken them all to its end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Life Together

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Lord of the Rings_ is the property of the Tolkien estate, New Line Cinema, and Warner Brothers Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** G
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Apparently here's another one I wrote in first person. Who would have thunk? :-) Enjoy!

 

Tonight is as plain as any other, but for some reason I feel very old. This perplexes me greatly. Today was no different from yesterday or the day before that. Today marked no serious activity, so strenuous exertion that might make my aging body realize the torments of a lifetime’s work. Today heralded neither death nor sorrow. It was a simple matter of rising, tending to the normal sorts of business, taking a meal in the company of hearty folk, and then retiring. No more, no less. A ritual of sorts, a pattern of life that rarely veered from the comfort of conformity. Yet this night something bothers me, and I cannot sleep.

It is not that I do not tire. It is not that my mind is filled. These things do not plague me now, though to say I have never been their prisoner is little more than an arrogant supposition. I have weathered their chains often in the past. A lord and a warrior does not often rest untroubled, for there is always much to burden him. Worries have fettered me to wakefulness when I was too weak to brush them aside. However, that is not the case this night. I do not worry. But I cannot sleep.

So I sit now, alone and outside where the plains stretch before me. This is a queer locale for a midnight tryst with addled spirits, but I found myself drawn here all the same. Another peculiarity to add to an evening riddled with strangeness, I suppose. Heavy rock and stable stone offer me naught in terms of solace. This confuses me. Ever have the folds of the earth comforted me. They offer a warm embrace that is unwavering and secure. Things may change. The wind may tear grass from plains and leaves from trees. The stars may cross the sky. Time and nature may weather soil and bend rock. But caves do not waver. They trap without them a bit of the world, and that remains static while everything outside twists and gnarls with age. Such a stasis has always eased me when troubles press too tightly. Some things will never change, I think, and then I am at peace.

And yet tonight I do not feel right remaining in the damp, darkness of the sturdy caverns. I feel I do not belong there, but it is not this realization that perturbs me. No, it is the fact that I am _not_ disturbed by it that boggles my weary mind. What has changed in me, I wonder. What has wrought this transformation? I had run my fingers along the smooth, cold wall as I walked the path to the surface, but the stone felt only rough and empty to my adept fingers. Gently it repulsed me, and for a Dwarf that should have been an unnerving shadow upon my heart. It was surely akin to an Elf finding no love in his stars or a Halfling knowing no peace in his tilled fields. But I was not dismayed then, and as I look out into the night, I am not dismayed now.

The time is approaching. I look up to the stars, watching as they wink and twinkle at me. They are old as well, and in observing them I feel my body sink. It is not an entirely disagreeable sensation, perhaps frightening at first but gentle and oddly soothing. I am not as strong as I used to be, though I would not be so bold or humble to admit that. My body aches with the weight of many years. I am slow, my joints creaking with unwanted strain borne from use and abuse, and my form refuses to act with alacrity any longer. These were not sudden changes. Aging still does not show herself clearly to me for all my pondering and even as I experience it. She covets mystery, and somehow I do not fault her for that. As days wear into twilight, to unveil the end of a long path might discourage one from walking it. Death was, perhaps, the ultimate conclusion, and only a fool could think otherwise. But the road that takes one there is not clear or straight, and as I wander the turns with a slowing mind and tiring flesh, I appreciate still the uncertainty in it all. Security is pleasant for what it is, but life is not meant to be predictable.

But I know what will come tomorrow. With the dawn, perhaps. With the noon hour. The little diamonds sparkle in a sea of sable, winking with a knowing smile. I sigh, breathe deeply, and draw the blanket tighter about myself. The wind is chilly. Then I gaze across the empty plains, admiring the peace of these dark times, remembering dark times that were not so peaceful. We have come far in our lives. We have faced much and triumphed over adversity. There are mountains in the distance, their hulking, gray forms piercing the sky. We have climbed them. And we have struggled for ourselves, for others. Such great deeds wrought no everlasting gift, though, and we knew this when we began. Peace is precarious. Life is tenuous. Nothing can last. These are the absolutes of existence. I smile softly as I return my gaze to the sky. I suppose even the stars will pass one day. Warriors and soldiers, kings and lords, stars of our own right. We cannot last.

Flesh ages. Hearts grow thick with the scars of an age of woe and warm with the love of a life worth living. Eyes grow dim, see less clearly, and the senses dull. It is hard for a warrior to slip into insignificance. The body is his ultimate weapon. Swords and axes and armor are mere instruments. When the body fails, we fail, and we become our fathers. I have had a good life. I do not regret. I am not sad to see this dawn. Why face the rising of a new stage with a heavy heart? But neither am I happy. I am apathetic, I suppose, for this strange night when rock offers no comfort and I finally feel I am ancient has heralded a turn in the tide of life. The path meanders to its end. It seems I am nearly there.

We have all had a good life together.

Time passes, and I sit there, feeling nothing but an itchy sense of anxiety claw at the receding tranquility of the night. When a spot of white appears among the waves of lightening gold, I watch. It draws closer, its pace steady and its equanimity endearing. Eventually I hear hooves strike the earth, vibrating no doubt the caves below with the coming of another change. They will remain the same, but now I will not.

Finally the horse and his rider bear near. I rise, the blanket falling from my shoulders to puddle about my feet. I knew he would come. “Is it time?” I ask. My voice is rough but steady, weakened by the breeze.

His eyes are blue, bluer than the coloring sky. Another might not have perceived the emotion he always guards so well, but I do. Sadness. A touch of fear, maybe. Regret. He is not as strong as I credit him to be, sometimes. But, then, his kind were always more susceptible to loss than mine. “Aye,” he says.

We speak no more. I know he is crestfallen. He does not understand what I do. Perhaps this past night was as quarrelsome to him as it was to me. I always knew he would be the first to sense the end. Perhaps he has seen many more unusual evenings. He steps to me, sliding from the horse, and I can see him falter. He will never understand. As we are meant to walk that path, he is not meant. He is not meant to understand this.

And I know that. As he comes to stand before me, I reach forth a callused, old hand. My fingers are bent and distorted, the knuckles jutting forth beneath discolored skin. But they still maintain a spark of my old strength, and as I grasp his arm, he knows this. I feel him relax. Skittish creature. I fear how his life would have been altered were it not for my company.

We stand and watch the sun rise. And then we go. We go to our friend in his ultimate days, his last moments, his final steps on this path. We will take them with him. Perhaps even stars can disappear. Perhaps even they age, and their fires burn away. But if they fade, they do not fade in solitude or sorrow. The sky is filled with companions. In the end, we are never alone.

**THE END**

 

 


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